y people were made so that they can so
easily be naughty, and so suddenly too, without really wanting to." And
she thought of yesterday. "I suppose Uncle George knows everything; but
grown-up people always say that you wouldn't understand, and they won't
tell you anything. I wonder if trees and flowers are really as good as
they look. I know birds and insects, and even little tiny ants, are
naughty, because I've seen them quarrelling. I do wonder about the
flowers, because they are just as much alive as people or animals."

Turning over this problem in her mind, she went slowly down the garden
to Peter, who was at work again in his beloved vinery.

"Peter," she said, "do you think that flowers and trees and vegetables
are ever naughty?"

The old man paused in his work and scratched his head thoughtfully.

"Aweel, Miss Marjory," he said, "I'm thinkin' not. Seems to me that the
bonnie flowers hae been gien us for a gude example. They aye bloom as
best they can. Sunshine an' shade, rain an' wind, they tak them a' as
God Almichty sends them, an' are aye sweet, an' aye content just to dae
their best. I dinna ken for certain, Miss Marjory, but that's what I'm
thinkin'."

"I think so too, Peter. They certainly don't look as if they were ever
naughty. My new friend is just like a lovely white rose, and she doesn't
look as if she could ever be naughty either."

"H'm," remarked Peter, "she's no mortal, lassie, then."

"Peter, you're not a bit nice about the Foresters. I tell you they are
just as sweet as they can be, both Blanche and her mother."

"It's just this," replied Peter, thus admonished. "I'm no a man that can
gae heid ower ears a' in a meenit; I must prove folks first. These
Foresters, they're English for ae thing, an' maybe they'll bring new
fangles to Braeside, which, bein' a Scotsman, I canna gie my approbation
to. I'm no sayin' they _wull_, but they _micht_. Na, na, Miss Marjory; I
maun prove them first."

"You're an obstinate old thing; but you can begin proving, as you call
it, this very afternoon, for Blanche is coming to tea; and I say,
Peter, will you spare time to take us down to the Low Farm after tea?
Blanche comes from London, and I'm sure she would love to see over it."

"_London_," muttered Peter in a voice that meant volumes of disapproval.

"Now, _do_ be nice, and promise," coaxed Marjory. "I'm going to ask
Lisbeth a favour too, and I'm sure _she'll_ say yes."

Not to be outdone in good nat